"What are you reading?" Spencer cocked his head to the side, seeking Sapphire's attention. She had been hiding behind her book, her eyes meticulously following the lines. He himself had resorted to his own reading but he couldn't help but glance at her cautiously every once in a while, mainly because of the soft sucking sounds she made with that cherry lollipop. It was more than just distracting.

Instead of answering him, she simply raised her book, pointing at the cover. Murder on The Orient Express.

"Agatha Christie, huh?" he watched as she made a gentle popping sound while removing the lollipop from her plump lips to speak.

"You have read this one as well?" she giggled. "And you remember it?"

He shook his head. "Eidetic memory."

"Oh dear. Well no spoilers please, muffin." she raised the book up and went on her task.

"Can you read to me?" the words escaped his mouth before he even knew it and he immediately felt himself flush with shame as she jumped a little and raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry?" she laughed nervously.

"I- I mean, I'd like it if you could read something to me." he stuttered.

"I thought you had read the book."

"I have, but I like Agatha Christie and I like your voice so I'd like you to read to me." he finished, anxiously waiting for her reply.

"You like my voice or you want to make fun of my accent, ?" she grinned suspiciously.

"What are you talking about? Your accent's great. Statistically speaking, British accents are considered the most attractive ones in the entire world." he cracked a shy smile.

"Well then..." she picked up her book once more and searched for the page where she had left her bookmark to continue.

She lingered; her eyes watched him curiously. Lovely eyes they were, dark and almond shaped, with very long black lashes that swept the exquisite pallor of her cheeks. Her lips, very scarlet, in the foreign fashion, were parted just a little. She looked exotic and beautiful.

'Why did you ask me that?

'Madame,' Poirot waved an airy hand, 'detectives have to ask all sorts of questions. For instance, perhaps you will tell me the color of your dressing-gown?'

She stared at him. Then she laughed.

As she read on, he didn't quite catch some lines. His gaze couldn't escape her and he kept watching her speak out the words in that marvelous cockney pronunciation she possessed. A few times she licked her lips ever so gracefully, stopping to regain control of her breathing.

If only he could have her read to him every day. If only he never left his side once.

She smiled, inclined her head and departed.

'Elle est jolie femme,' said Mr. Bouc appreciatively.

He sighed.

'Well, that did not advance us much.'

'No,' said Poirot. 'Two people who saw nothing and heard nothing.'

'Shall we now see the Italian?'

Poirot did not reply for a moment. He was studying a grease spot on a Hungarian diplomatic passport.

"You speak French?" he cut her off. He didn't want to, but he did.

"I do. Why?" she smiled.

"I just noticed 'cause your accent is so good." he stuttered and rested his hands on his lap, not knowing what else to do. It was amazing, how much time they spent together constantly but there was still so much to discover every single day. And if he'd let him, he would gladly discover every single little thing.

The plane landed soon. They were on a case in Los Angeles, California and as much as he liked the sun - it was boiling outside with almost 98°F. He kept feeling he would melt the moment he exited the air-conditioned cabin.

They got out and he purposefully lingered on his steps to be closer to her. She was still a good twelve feet -if not more- shorter than him and so her steps were not nearly as big and quick as his. She seemed to be looking for something in her bag and he moved smoothly by her side.

"Need any help?" he offered.

"Thank you, my buttercup. Could you hold my laptop for a minute? I cannot find my sunscreen." she handed him the bag, which was overwhelmingly heavy. It made sense since he had caught her sneaking a couple books inside the bag before they left their luggage behind.

"You could just borrow someone else's or buy a new one." he suggested.

"I would, but I need one with SPF 100 and well, no normal person owns that." they both laughed.

"Really? I didn't even know there was such thing."

"Ooh...I know something that the infamous doesn't? Such an honor." she joked. "Yes, they make them for vampires like me."

Yeah, her skin was truly pale. But matched with every other fair feature of hers, it was beautiful - if not ethereal even.

"That bad? I mean, you might just get a little tanned." his head jerked a little for him to make contact with her eyes.

She laughed loudly. "Sweetheart, I either look like a ghost or a bloody lobster. There is no in between." she looked a little deeper in the bag and found it. "Thank God, I have it. Wait, did I get my sunglasses?"

"Haven't seen them anywhere." he answered although he knew her question was more to herself rather than to him.

"Bloody hell! Since when am I such a mess?" she scoffed adorably.

"Well, the mountain of snacks in there isn't helping either." he commented and she pouted, poking out her tongue playfully. "Just borrow my glasses." he took them off and handed them to her.

"Are you sure? Don't you need them?" she hesitated for a minute.

"No, you can have them. After all, it's been scientifically proved that lighter-colored eyes like your turquoise ones are far more vulnerable when it comes to sunlight exposure." he finished off triumphantly.

"Turquoise?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't think your eyes could be described as either blue or green. They are sea green with a hint of blue, I believe." Was that too much? Was that too much of a giveaway? Oh screw it.

"You paid attention." He heard her hum in a low voice while looking up at him with beaming eyes but this couldn't have been what she said. Absolutely not.